


Sache que le Soi correspond au voyageur, que le corps est le chariot.

by apidologist



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Drinking, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Magic, gay magicians doing gay magical things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:31:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apidologist/pseuds/apidologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the kmeme prompt "Childermass teaching Segundus to read the cards of Marseille". (Main difficulty in writing this: I'm entirely ignorant of the finer points of tarot reading. Hopefully I haven't made a hash of it.) </p>
<p>The cards provide Mr Segundus with some insight as to his relationship with Mr Childermass, who, let's be honest here, has probably been asking his cards about Segundus every night for the past decade or so. With a little help from some spiced wine and magical seduction, they finally manage to reveal their affections.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sache que le Soi correspond au voyageur, que le corps est le chariot.

**Author's Note:**

> Title paraphrased from a translation of a few lines of the Katha Upanishad.

It was a bitterly cold and windy evening, and Mr Segundus was glad he did not have to venture into the harsh weather once more. After a few hours of debate and fevered discussion, he was anxious to return to his room, and to continue his magical studies in a less crowded and argumentative way. His relationship to the York Society of Magicians (reformed) was rather complicated. Though he still very much welcomed the opportunity to discuss the magic and magical history which fascinates him, or to continue to uncover the remaining written spells which exist in England, or to assist in deciphering the Book, he was concerned that many of the members too often wind up on the verge of physical confrontation over what _really_ happened to Mr Strange and Mr Norrell. Finally succeeding in imparting a hint of exhaustion to his current conversational partner by way of a few exaggerated, not-quite-stifled yawns, Segundus managed to extract himself from the meeting room with a few polite apologies. 

At the doorway, he turned back, and caught the eye of John Childermass, whose form was darkening the corner of the room as he attempted to make a talented but rash young lady see sense before she attempted every spell that came her way without first considering their implications. Childermass noticed and returned a minute nod, and Segundus made his way up a narrow flight of stairs to the room in which he habitually stays after the meetings, or when he has business in town and the weather takes a turn for the worse. He entered, poured himself a glass of water, folded his jacket, and wrapped himself in one of the scratchy wool blankets provided for the bed. He pulled a creaking wooden chair and breakfast table close to the fire, which he had fortunately remembered to ask for upon his arrival, and began to look over a monograph which he was given at some point in the evening. Then, he proceeded to wait. 

Perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes passed before Segundus experienced the sensation of magic being done very near to him. After over a year of diligently practising magic himself, he no longer felt the extreme weakness, illness, and fatigue he associated with magic before its restoration. He retained, however, a sensitivity to the individual style of the magic being performed, regardless of the spell. Mere seconds were enough to tell him its familiar source - he turned directly to the far corner of his room, and asked the shadows there if they would like to take a seat nearer the fire. The shadows responded (slightly disappointed that their trick was so quickly discovered) that they would be pleased to do so, and when Segundus returned his gaze to the other side of the table, Childermass was seated opposite, shuffling his cards with the utmost nonchalance. Segundus half-smiled, recalling the days when he would have been rendered faint to see something of that nature performed so effortlessly before him.

They had become accustomed to staying late and chatting after Society meetings, either to continue a discussion upon which the members had been engaged, or to pursue their own lines of interest, or even to assist one another in the creation or performance of new spells. Segundus had invited him to Starecross Hall on a number of occasions to be interviewed for his book detailing the life of Jonathan Strange, and their initially reluctant alliance (Segundus, unsurprisingly, harboured some feelings of resentment toward Childermass) had become a friendship of great mutual benefit. In exchanging their vastly different areas of expertise, they quickly became two of the most knowledgeable magicians in England.  
Lately, Segundus had begun to show an interest in Childermass’ tarot cards, and had spent his scant spare time over the past month in researching their history and practical applications. He could feel how closely connected Childermass was to his own deck, and had occasionally observed him retracing ink which had faded, or reinforcing a bent card with glue and stiff paper. Segundus found it a privilege to observe his features when, in asking them a particularly incisive question, Childermass succeeded in receiving a clear answer to his queries. 

He removed his overcoat and took a seat across the table, shoving his boots nearly into the coals. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said gruffly. ‘You are looking rather cozy.’ 

Segundus rolled his eyes, then reflected that he never had this habit before befriending Childermass. He reflected that such an action does not befit a gentleman, then reflected that he did not much care. ‘I shall not risk catching cold in order to evade being laughed at, Mr Childermass.’ 

‘You have a right to be comfortable in your own room. What is there to laugh at, in any case?’ He gestured toward Segundus, swaddled like a baby, nose poking out over the blanket. ‘I have brought you something. Let us say it is to aid in the prevention of colds.’ Childermass pulled a bottle of spiced wine from somewhere within the depths of his overcoat and placed it on the table between them.

‘Why, Childermass! Thank you, it is very kind, but what have I done to deserve a gift?’

‘As I said, it is to aid--’

‘Childer _mass_!’ Segundus petulantly drew out the final syllable. 

‘It is...’ Childermass did not think he would have to explain himself. He was not sure exactly how to explain. ‘It is to thank you. I have very much appreciated your time. Other folk have not been - well -’ Here Childermass uncharacteristically fumbled for words. He removed his cards from the inner pocket of his jacket and shuffled them absentmindedly. ‘Half of the Society members do not trust me, as I was Norrell’s man. Most of th’other half do not respect me, as I am still a servant in their eyes. And the few remaining - who knows what it is, perhaps I picked their pockets as a youth and they have an instinctive distrust of me. Or else it is simply my manner.’ He appeared amused at this. ‘But you never had that look in your eye. And so I thank you. Though it is only spiced wine.’

Segundus was incited by this. ‘It is close-minded of them!’ he said, rather forcefully. ‘You have a great deal to offer these magicians. To take your thoughts any less seriously because you were not born a lord, or some such ridiculous thing. They do not realise the depths of your knowledge, and it is to their disadvantage that they do not.’

Childermass’ face twisted a bit at this little speech, and Segundus became aware of his mistake. ‘But it would be reprehensible even if you had the least knowledge of all of us. I have seen how some members behave toward those newcomers, as if talent and potential and class are all intertwined. I will not even repeat what I have heard said about the few female members. It is,’ he shook his head and repeated, quietly, ‘reprehensible.’

‘I did not mean to make a discussion of it. You need not worry yourself. I meant only to thank you.’

Segundus, who had his chin in his hand, softly smiled up at him. There was a pause. ‘Would you like to share it with me?’

‘Some present it is if I drink half of it,’ grumbled Childermass, but deftly uncorked the bottle with his thumb. 

‘Oh - I am afraid this is the only glass I have.’ 

Childermass tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Segundus’ stomach grew tight - it was an action which he had been observed to do when he needed all his concentration, and there were few things John Childermass needed all his concentration for besides magic. Between Segundus’ fingers, the glass shifted as though it were clay. The tumbler shot up from the table like a flower, tapering down to a thin stem, slowly moulding itself and developing an ornate pattern of vines around the bowl. As it settled itself into place, one of the delicate glass vines branched off from the stem and grew a small glass leaf before ceasing to move entirely. Segundus laughed in delight, holding it up to the firelight for closer inspection. 

‘It is beautiful, Childermass!’

‘That is very interesting.’ He peered more closely at the leaf. ‘Of course, it was a spell to assist in gardening, so I should have expected an effect of this nature.’ 

‘What I meant to say,’ said Segundus, still with a wide grin on his face, ‘was that I do not have another glass - not that my own was not suitable for wine!’ 

Childermass raised an eyebrow. He seemed not to have thought of that. ‘I do not believe I can make another glass.’ 

Segundus shook his head, poured the wine, and offered the first taste to Childermass. Childermass sipped, then slid the glass back across the table. ‘Well. Now that we have got through that little difficulty, perhaps now we may discuss your cards?’ He took a drink himself, and his eyes brightened. ‘Delicious!’ 

Childermass’ mouth twitched upwards. ‘How far along have you come in your studies?’ 

‘Not as far as I would have liked. I believe I can recall the Major Arcana, and I have studied some examples of spreads and questions and interpretations.’

‘That is quite enough to be getting on with tonight, I think!’ 

Childermass separated the cards between Major and Minor, and began to speak of his personal reading of the individual Major cards, and the different possibilities when they are read in connexion to one another, and various advice he thought beneficial to a novice reader. Segundus thought to retrieve his notebook and take some of it down, but reflected that Childermass’ voice itself is as good a mnemonic as any. When his mouth began to dry he reached for the glass, and when Segundus passed it over, he drained it in a single swallow. Segundus stared at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed over the top of his neckcloth, then quickly averted his eyes to his own hands folded upon the table. He heard Childermass pour another glass and release a string of curses. 

‘What is it?’

Childermass gestured to a card, and Segundus could see a splotch of red spreading over the top corner. ‘A common source of annoyance to me,’ said Childermass. ‘I cannot count the number of times I have had to redraw them.’

‘It must be why you are such a talented artist!’ Childermass looked from Segundus to the spread upon the table in disbelief. ‘Stop that. They are excellent illustrations.’ 

‘I shall not insult you by expressing my disagreement,’ Childermass said dubiously. He sighed down at the card and continued his reading.

They continued much in the same vein for well over an hour. As Childermass was occupied in explaining or providing examples of readings he might do to divine a certain indicative answer rather than multiple possible outcomes, and Segundus interrupted only to ask for clarification on this interpretation or that, Segundus found that without realising it, he had drunk the majority of the wine. He had begun to feel very warm indeed, and very pleasant. His ears were hot and his lips tingled. He had thrown the blanket back upon the bed, and even rolled his sleeves over his elbows. More than once Childermass became distracted from his lecturing by the delicate bones at his wrists, or the hair of his forearms which appeared golden in the firelight.

Segundus leaned forward to decant the scant remaining contents of the bottle. He sat back in his chair and emitted the smallest of hiccoughs, then giggled, surprised to hear such a squeak leave his mouth. ‘Perhaps _you_ should have the last of it, Childermass.’ 

He accepted the glass and drained it, then became aware that he had completely forgotten his line of thought. Segundus apologised for interrupting and eagerly regarded Childermass, waiting for him to continue where he had left off.

‘It is no matter. But I am not sure if either of us is in a fit state to continue this evening!’ 

Segundus is visibly disappointed at this, but agrees that he doubts he will be able to remember many more details. ‘It is getting late, and I should be getting to sleep in any case, as I must rise early for my carriage.’ His demonstrative nature rendered all the more so by drink, Segundus reached for Childermass’ hand and smiled broadly, thanking him for the evening, and expressing that he sometimes finds it difficult not to have someone so learned to consult, and he so looks forward to the meetings, not just to be in the company of so many magicians, but to afterwards enjoy his more in-depth conversations with a man who truly understood what it was like before the restoration of English magic, and who also was involved in the restoration, and who is even more attuned to magical things than Segundus himself! After he had done a fair bit of rambling, he discovered that he was still holding Childermass’ hand, and quickly withdrew it, greatly embarrassed. When Childermass said nothing but merely stared at the place where Segundus’ fingertips rested over his wrist, Segundus stood - rather unsteadily - and wished him a quiet _good night_ , crossing the room to look unseeingly out of the window.

Childermass did not leave as he knew it would be most polite to - nor did he consider doing so. Instead he stood, followed Segundus to the window, and rested a hand on his shoulder whilst Segundus stared resolutely ahead. 

‘Please, sir, do not be embarrassed,’ Childermass said. He chose his words carefully. ‘Though there seems to be an abundance of magicians these days, there are still precious few with whom it is possible to have a conversation rather than an argument.’

Segundus thanked him quietly for his understanding. Childermass thought of how best to appease him. ‘I hope it is not too forward, but if you would like any company other than your students or Mr Honeyfoot, you need only write to me - even if I often find myself away on business.’

Segundus’ eyes grew wide. ‘And likewise, Mr Childermass, you are always welcome at Starecross, you needn’t write at all if you would like to visit!’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he responded with a small bow. Though Segundus looked much better pleased than he did a moment ago, Childermass could still read in him a sense of disappointment, and of longing, and hopelessness. Above anything he did not wish to embarrass him again, so rather than ask Segundus what he wished to know in a straightforward manner, he suggested a card reading - a simple spread, three cards, if Segundus was not too tired to spend a while longer in his company?

Segundus laughed, relieved - ‘And what shall we ask them, Mr Childermass?’

‘I do not know what you shall ask them.’ Childermass’ mouth twitched upwards in its perplexing way, and he gathered the cards together as they resumed their seats. Though he was only relinquishing part of the deck, and only temporarily, he felt slightly wary allowing even a single card to be in another’s possession. He hesitated, but his difficulty parting with the cards reminded him of the all-too-familiar memory of Mr Norrell being unable to part with his books, even to lend them to his esteemed pupil, and he quickly pushed them across the table, affronted by his mind’s comparison. 

‘Has anyone else used these?’

‘No one else has even touched them. Vinculus once ruined an entire deck of mine, but otherwise, I admit I do not part easily with them. Fortunately, Mr Norrell preferred to pretend they did not exist, and left me to my own devices.’

Segundus took up the deck and held it gingerly, aware of how fragile the hand-drawn cards are and how much they must mean to Childermass, but also aware that they are rather filthy. Sipping his wine, he took a moment to think of a question, and absent-mindedly shuffled the cards between his slender hands. His unguarded expressions reflected curiosity, then embarrassment, hope, then anxiety. With this last thought, Childermass read uncertainty in his eyes and nervousness in his fingers, and said, ‘If you seek advice on a personal matter, you needn’t tell me any particulars. I should only like to see how you get along with the cards, and provide a clew if you are in need of one.’

Segundus’ face reddened a degree further, but at last he seemed to decide on the form of his question, and flipped the first card. He studied it for a moment, then flipped the second. His eyes widened slightly. He hesitated before the third - Childermass nodded his encouragement, and he placed one more card on the table. Segundus ran his hands through his hair nervously before catching a glimpse of his smudged fingertips and wincing. 

His words fell hesitantly from his lips. ‘Well - I have asked them for advice as to my...my friendship with somebody. The first is our current situation, the second is an obstacle in the relationship, and the third is the advice.’

Childermass leaned forward over the table to study them better. ‘How do you read the first?’

‘L’Imperatrice...we - that is, this person and I - are working together in a project, and we work well together.’

‘That’s as may be, but it is often more telling to interpret for friends as you would for lovers.’ 

Hearing the word “lovers” in Childermass’ mouth, Segundus felt his nerves unravel a degree. ‘Oh,’ he tried not to choke. ‘Of course, yes. That is sensible, I suppose. Certainly.’ 

If Childermass noticed this odd behaviour, he hid his amusement well. ‘It signifies harmony, communication, understanding. You and this person are much at ease with one another.’

Segundus nodded, and indicated the next card. ‘The second is La Papesse, which would suggest growing affection. But...I do not understand how this might be an obstacle.’ 

Childermass seems pleased. ‘You are something of a quick study, Mr Segundus. I should like to see what you will be able to do with the full deck.’

Grinning, Segundus replies that he should like for Childermass to see what he can do without a few glasses of spiced wine to fog his reasoning abilities. A canny light glints briefly in Childermass’ eyes. ‘Are you that much affected, sir?’

‘I will admit that a glass is generally sufficient. But I am not - that is to say, not _beyond_ reason.’

(In fact, Childermass had, to an extent, previously ascertained his tolerance. Without fully reasoning it through, he purchased the wine, thinking it would be a pleasant surprise on a chill night. He then realised he had never seen Segundus drink anything but tea or water, and so he scribbled a hurried note on the back of a receipt to Mr Honeyfoot, to the effect of ‘Is Mr Segundus a teetotaller? Your servant, John Childermass,’ which Honeyfoot had thought rather odd, but then he found everything about Childermass to be rather odd, and so he forgot his reply as soon as he had sent it. ‘Mr Segundus rarely drinks, but when he does, it is a sight to see, and he seems to enjoy himself greatly. Why do you not ask him yourself, sir? I hope you do not need to know this for a spell! Respectfully, Mr Honeyfoot.’ This response fascinated him, and he thought it might turn out to be an even better present than he had realised.)

Childermass himself felt only a warmth diffusing from the very core of his body which seemed out of accordance with the mere remnants of a fire in the grate and the thin walls of Segundus’ room. He had never been convinced of the benefits of alcohol in large quantities, but upon seeing the effects of the wine heating his friend’s cheeks and staining his lips, relaxing his speech, and enhancing his already demonstrative manner, he decided that it did indeed have some worthwhile application. Rising out of his thoughts, he offered a suggestion: ‘It could be that you believe your affections to be one-sided, therefore the obstacle is your own doubt that the sentiment is reciprocated. And to overcome this obstacle--’

‘Le Chariot,’ Segundus whispered. ‘I must make a decision.’

‘You must act,’ said Childermass, still leaning over the cards, a mere foot away from Segundus’ face. Segundus raised his eyes to the other man’s, consternation plainly visible. 

‘But there is no telling where my actions will lead!’ he protested. Childermass met his gaze steadily, and though he said nothing, Segundus could read the final card’s message repeated on his face: _You must act_ , but not only that, _You will act_ , and _Please, act now_. His breath hitched, and after an eternal second of doubt, he placed his hands upon the table and closed the remaining distance between them with a clumsy and slightly off-target kiss, the legs of his chair grating back against the floorboards. 

A brief moment passed, then Segundus fell back, his already pink complexion brightening to red. ‘Oh, Lord!’ he gasped, eyes wide, shocked at his own forwardness. 

Childermass slowly sank into his own seat, amusement at the corners of his mouth and interest apparent in his eyes. ‘Well, sir, as it is only your first attempt, I did not expect you to take the cards’ advice so directly.’

‘I am terribly sorry for it, Mr Childermass! I am - I am not thinking clearly--’ Here Segundus broke off, and buried his face in his hands, hoping that Childermass would simply take his leave and make it easier on the both of them. He heard nothing, however, and so he brushed his fingers over the first card and said, somewhat muffled, ‘I do not wish to forfeit our friendship.’

Childermass reached to cover his hand, saying, ‘Hush now, Mr Segundus,’ and looking rather at odds with taking on the role of the comforting party. He thought for a moment of what to say, and finally settled on, ‘Tha’ll be reet.’ It was what his mother had often said to him as a young lad, and consequently he believed it to be the most reassuring thing one could hear. Segundus did not appear quite as convinced, but then, that could be attributed to his rudimentary understanding of the dialect. ‘You have an impressive skill with them,’ Childermass mused, gathering his cards together and returning them to his pocket with care. He rose to his feet and moved slowly toward Segundus, sitting small and dejected, his eyes downcast and seemingly on the verge of weeping. ‘And you have proved to be intuitive besides,’ said Childermass, stepping still closer, ‘as I believe you have made the correct decision.’

Segundus mustered the courage to raise his eyes from the tabletop, and as he did so, a tear freed itself from among his eyelashes. Childermass caught it with his thumb before it reached his chin. He leant down to scrape his mouth along Segundus’ neck, which resulted in a soft, involuntary huff of an exhale, and Segundus dared to tangle his hands in Childermass’ fall of dark hair. Their lips met for the second time, and they remained in this way for some minutes, one uncertain, the other encouraging, each tasting the warmth of spiced wine from the other’s mouth. 

They became gradually more comfortable, more daring, and soon elicited many sounds of pleasure from one another. Childermass groaned deeply to have his hair stroked, and Segundus released what could be described as a whine when Childermass stroked his neck and pulled at his neckcloth. He pursued this line of inquiry, making short work of the knot, then loosening the fabric so as to gain full access. Licking his way down his throat with a steady pressure caused Segundus’ head to fall back and his knees to spread wide, and so Childermass, holding the loose ends of his neckcloth, twisted them slowly, carefully, until Segundus writhed in his chair.

‘Let us get thee abed, John Segundus,’ whispered Childermass, and Segundus felt as though he were lifted bodily out of his chair, though the other man’s touch was light. He stumbled against Childermass as the drink rushed to his head and steadied himself by gripping his lapels; then, with a burst of vigour, he spun them both around and pulled Childermass down with him as he fell back upon the hard mattress. Childermass made a deep noise of surprize at being handled so, but quickly gained the upper hand by pressing a thigh between Segundus’ legs, which resulted in a soft gasp and a twitch of his hips.

‘What do you wish from me, sir?’ 

‘Oh - _please_ -’ He had a moment of trouble forming the words. ‘I have imagined you having me in every way possible.’ Childermass’ eyes grew still darker at this, and his chest felt tight. ‘I do not mind how you wish to have me, if only you will take me.’ This he said in a single breath, as if it were an incantation, and for all the effect it had on him, Childermass believed it to be a true spell of his own making. 

He heaved Segundus back toward the headboard, which hit the wall behind with a bang, and efficiently pulled the loose fabric of Segundus’ shirt upwards with one hand whilst unbuttoning his breeches with the other. He did not bother undressing him fully. He dared to hope that there would be plenty of time in their future to discover the infinite other pleasures of Segundus’ company. In any case, he found the dishevelled state of him to be highly affecting when compared to his usually neat, self-contained appearance. He looked him from head to toe, and took note of his tousled hair, neckcloth half-undone, collar splayed wide, breeches open and tented by his arousal, stockings wrinkled and worn at the heels. 

‘ _What_ ,’ said Segundus, almost anguished, ‘could you possibly be waiting for?’ 

‘For you to become desperate for...whatever you desire of me.’

‘I have been desperate for all of you this past year, and aching for you long before that. If you wait for me to become any more so, I will finish myself off.’

Childermass did not waste any more time after that. Pressing a last rough kiss to his mouth, he moved down Segundus’ body to settle between his widespread knees. He inhaled deeply. “If, then, I am given the choice, I wish to have you -’ his breath ghosted over the head of Segundus’ prick, ‘- in my mouth.’ 

Segundus’ gasp was immediately choked off as Childermass’ mouth closed over him. It was all he could do to keep his hips from rising off the mattress. He gripped Childermass’ hair (which had become completely loosed from its tie) with one hand; the other was clenched into a fist and shoved into his mouth in an attempt to prevent his keen noises of pleasure from disturbing the inn’s other inhabitants. Segundus was not going to last, but he did not mind what happened as long as he had Childermass’ mouth upon him. Likewise, Childermass, rather than drawing him out as far as he could, repeated that thought in his head, the reassurance that this would be far from their only time together, and worked him feverishly toward his peak. As Segundus became less reserved about pressing Childermass’ face to him and thrusting upwards to achieve a greater depth, so he became less concerned with stifling his moans, cries, and stuttered pleas. It occurred to Childermass that the noises, regardless of Segundus’ attempts to stop them, would certainly wake the innkeeper, if not the entire street. Fortunately, he had been highly successful in both gathering and creating spells of late, and was ever ready to apply himself.

It was as though Childermass, the very spark and essence of Childermass and his magic and soul and body had flowed into Segundus’ veins. At first he thought Childermass was performing magic upon him, in which case he would have had to become highly indignant as soon as he regained his capacity for rational speech, but he then realised that the spell surrounded them both. He did not understand why Childermass might cast a spell at this moment, or how he managed to do it with his mouth occupied thus, and wondered whether it was entirely voluntary. He became lost in that feeling which buzzed through him, his moans became uncontrollable but sounded distant, detached from himself, and between Childermass sucking him wetly and gripping him roughly, and the added sensation of magic all around him, he came suddenly and without warning. 

Perhaps Childermass, in hindsight, should have expected such a reaction. However, it took him by surprise, and it was all he could do to keep from choking as Segundus’ emission flooded the back of his throat. He swallowed thickly. Segundus was red-faced, dishevelled, a few strands of hair were stuck to his forehead, and his chest heaved with exertion. 

‘It is very impolite, not warning a fellow,’ said Childermass, sitting back on his heels the better to observe him.

Segundus grunted half-heartedly, and reached out his arms. Childermass allowed himself to be pulled in for an exhausted kiss, and Segundus hummed his contentment, though he wrinkled his nose slightly at the taste. 

‘Thank you, Childermass,’ he whispered. They lay there, chests pressed together, noses almost touching. ‘What did you do? My voice sounds strange.’

‘A muffling spell. I thought it best to be cautious. Especially when I discovered how keen you were.’

Segundus ignored this remark. ‘It was your own magic.’

‘Yes.’ The spell was beginning to fade away, there was a rushing in their ears as the echoes of their voices returned to the room. ‘You could sense me.’

Segundus nodded. Childermass buried his nose into the warmth of Segundus’ neck, which tickled him. ‘Ah, ah, um - Childermass, do you, _ah!_ Stop it! Do you - would you like me to do the same for you?’

‘Oh,’ Childermass said slowly as he pulled away, an odd expression washing over his features. On another’s face, Segundus might have taken it for embarrassment, but could not imagine what Childermass might have to be ashamed of. ‘No, I do not believe I shall be needing that. Thank you.’ His mouth twisted slightly.

‘Childermass,’ said Segundus softly, ‘did I do something wrong?’ 

Childermass huffed a frustrated sigh, disengaged himself from Segundus’ arms, and stood to one side of the bed, arms crossed before him. Segundus did not feel that he was up to decipher what had upset him, what with the drink and the magic and everything else which had occurred. 

‘You sounded so beautiful,’ he said, ‘and I could not stop myself.’ Segundus’ eyes fell to Childermass’ faded breeches, and in the guttering light of a candle he could see that a damp patch had spread over the panel. 

‘Oh, my God.’ Segundus stared whilst Childermass averted his eyes to the corner, thinking that if Segundus would not sense it, he would seriously consider disappearing into the welcoming shadows there. ‘Childermass, I - I admit, that is very gratifying to see.’ He moved closer to inspect him, but Childermass turned half away. ‘Sorry.’ He hid a smile. ‘Please, let me help you to get clean.’ 

Segundus rose to his feet, but immediately fell back upon the bed. ‘It rather seems that I have lost the use of my legs for the moment.’

At the sight of this, Childermass forgot some of his own embarrassment, and made his way to the washstand. ‘Get thissen to bed, I am competent enough around a flannel.’ Segundus did as he was told. They both began to undress, watching one another, mirroring one another’s movements. It felt incredibly intimate, even more so than what they had just done, and Segundus felt an ache in his chest. Segundus changed into his nightshirt; Childermass left his own shirt on, and Segundus watched him clean himself from beneath the covers. 

‘Are you going to stay?’ Segundus’ voice was hesitant.

‘I have been hoping you would ask me that question one of these nights.’ He smiled unguardedly. ‘In any case, a bed with you in it is certainly the warmer option.’

Segundus pulled the sheets back, and Childermass climbed in beside him. They lay almost nose-to-nose, and their eyes were heavy, but they fought against fatigue in order to record each other’s image in their memories. Their fingers twined together and when their cold feet brushed a chill went up their spines, and as Segundus drifted to sleep, he wondered how it could be possible for this to feel so natural while it was all so very new, and prayed that the sun would be good enough to take its time in rising the next morning.


End file.
